constituted one of the comeliest groups I have ever known. The girls all married, save one: three of the sons-among the handsome men of their time-professed bachelorism; a proof of what all shrewd observers know, that handsome men, spontaneously enjoying the smiles of the sex, feel no need of resigning their liberty, while ugly men are forced to capitulate on bended knees, and accept the severe conditions of matrimony, as the only happy issue out of their solitude. One only, Rufus H. King, of Albany, whom I have already mentioned, took upon himself the honors of wedlock. All these persons possessed that happy balance of good sense, good feelings, good looks, and good manners, which insures success and respectability in life. Is not such a family history worthy of being recorded in this book of the chronicles of Ridgefield?

Why, then, was he a democrat? Was it because Col. Bradley and himself were rivals in trade, rivals in wealth, rivals in position? Was it that by a natural proclivity, derived from this relation, he became an opponent of one who stood in his way, and thus became a democrat? Who will venture to solve such questions as these?

I pray you not to consider me as saying any thing invidious of Gen. King. He was really a man to be respected, perhaps loved, even though he was not of great intellect, or morally cast in the mould of perfection. He had plain practical sense, perfect sincerity, high moral courage, an open, cheerful, frank manner. Be it understood that I speak from my childish recollections. Such is the impression he made upon me. Erect, martial, authoritative as he was, I still liked him, for to me he was kind, always asked about our family, and was particularly unlike that cold, silent, dark-browed Col. Bradley. His whole person bespoke manliness. No one looking on him would suspect him of meanness, in thought, word, or deed. He was eminently successful in business, and his wealth, at length, outstripped that of his great rival. His party also triumphed, and he became the first man of the place in position and influence.

If thus fortunate in these respects, he was even more so in his family. He had ten children-four sons and six daughters: all reached maturity, and

constituted one of the comeliest groups I have ever known. The girls all married, save one: three of the sons-among the handsome men of their time-professed bachelorism; a proof of what all shrewd observers know, that handsome men, spontaneously enjoying the smiles of the sex, feel no need of resigning their liberty, while ugly men are forced to capitulate on bended knees, and accept the severe conditions of matrimony, as the only happy issue out of their solitude. One only, Rufus H. King, of Albany, whom I have already mentioned, took upon himself the honors of wedlock. All these persons possessed that happy balance of good sense, good feelings, good looks, and good manners, which insures success and respectability in life. Is not such a family history worthy of being recorded in this book of the chronicles of Ridgefield?

LETTER XVIII.

The Ingersolls-Rev. Jonathan Ingersoll-Lieutenant-governor Ingersoll— New Haven Bellos-A chivalrous Virginian among the Connecticut D.D.'s -Grace Ingersoll-A New Haven Girl at Napoleon's Court-Real Romance-A Puritan in a Convent.

MY DEAR C******

General King's house stood on the northern slope of a small swell of ground, midway between the two extremities of the main street, and on the western side. It was a rather large two-story edifice, always neatly kept, and glowing in fresh white paint. Wealth and respectability in the full tide of successful experiment, were as readable in its appearance as if it had been so written in front, like the designation of a railway station.

Contiguous to this fresh and flourishing mansion, on the southern side, was a brown, gable-roofed house, with two venerable, but still green and flourishing button-wood trees in front. The building was marked with age, the surface of its clapboards, unprotected by paint, being softened and spongy through the influence of the seasons. The roof was of a yellowishgreen tint, imparted by a gathering film of moss. The windows were contracted, and the casing, thin and plain, bespoke the architecture of our day of small things. All around was rather bare, and the little

recess in front, open and uninclosed, was at once shaven close and desecrated by a flock of geese that every night made it their camp-ground. Nevertheless, there was a certain dignity about the button-wood trees in front, and the old brown house in the rear, that excited respect and curiosity in the beholder. There was indeed some reason, for this was the home of the Ingersolls.

The Rev. Jonathan Ingersoll* was my father's immediate predecessor, as minister of the First Congregational Church in Ridgefield. Though he has been dead three fourths of a century, tradition still cherishes his memory as an able preacher, a devoted pastor, and a most amiable man. In my boyhood he had long since passed away, but his widow still lingered in the old brown house I have described. She was every way a superior woman-wise, good, loving, and beloved. Her husband's mantle descended upon her shoulders, and she wore it worthily before the world and the Church. By the latter she was cherished as a guardian saint. She was always my father's friend, and in the critical and difficult passages which are sure to arise between a pastor and his people, she was the ready and efficient peacemaker. I remember her, though faintly and as a dream, yet one in which I saw a pale, gray, saintly old lady, almost too good for this wicked world.

* See note I., p. 516.